


Character in Darkness

by rightsidethru



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Iron Man - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: (sarcasm), ...but turned dark(er) at the very end, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Sorry Not Sorry, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, mostly hinted towards but nothing is shown, this was supposed to be kind of reassuring, what the person views as their bogeyman is subjective
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-08 19:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11653197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rightsidethru/pseuds/rightsidethru
Summary: “Are you afraid?” the strange man asked, touch shifting to cup the edge of Tony’s sharp jawline.“Yes,” the boy answered, white still showing around his pupil-blown irises.





	Character in Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> So I stumbled across [The Dark Guardian](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7950793/chapters/18179461) by InTheShadows and was intrigued by the summary (haven't read it yet, but intend to). I liked the idea of Pitch Black being the Guardian for children who have suffered abuse, and--well... Harry Potter isn't the only abused child in canon. Unfortunately. :\
> 
> For Tony, [this comic panel](https://68.media.tumblr.com/04c530276f854b5cfb644bb88f7b4714/tumblr_inline_o70nvfXRqW1s5g239_540.png) immediately sprung to mind (and also inspired the beginning portion of the story).
> 
> This was meant to be a slightly reassuring vignette, but... Tony and Pitch apparently had slightly different ideas at the very end? *coughs* :D;;
> 
> Brief quotes reference Iron Man and Rise of the Guardians. You'll know them when you see them.
> 
> The title is taken from a quote by Yousuf Karsh: "Character, like a photograph, develops in darkness."
> 
> Not beta'd, so please forgive me any mistakes.

The Stark mansion was large enough that plenty of little hidey-holes—big enough for a child to find, to squeeze themselves into, but for an adult to overlook—lay scattered across the property in both the grounds and the house proper. By age three, Tony Stark had found nearly all of them. By age five, he was putting them to regular use almost every night.

Howard had gone down to D.C. earlier in the day and the meetings he had held with Aunt Peggy apparently went sour enough that he came home furious and already slightly drunk. Dealing with his son’s curious questions—and an additional two glasses of scotch—during dinner hadn’t improved his attitude at all, only worsening it to the point that Maria had gone silent and Tony rabbit-still when the Stark patriarch snapped, “ _Can’t you keep your goddamned mouth shut and let me have some peace and quiet for one meal, Tony?!_ ” and set his now-empty tumbler onto the wooden table with an audible, dangerous _click_.

Not wanting to worsen his father’s ire, Tony remained carefully silent for the rest of the meal.

Afterwards, when Jarvis tucked the five year-old into bed and turned off of the lights—mistakenly assuming that Tony would actually _stay_ there—the boy slipped out from beneath the sheets and quickly padded on muted feet to one of the hidey-holes that was closest to his rooms. With Howard on his way to getting thoroughly drunk tonight, there was no guarantee that Tony’s bed remained a safe haven (not with how his father had blown up at the boy during dinner). Better to hide and remain hidden until he could hear Howard stumbling off into his private set of rooms.

Shivering in fear at the sound of a crash and breaking glass down on the first floor, Tony wrapped his skinny arms around his calves and brought his legs close to his chest so that he could press his face against knobby knees. Burrowing his face so hard against his knees that sparks of lights exploded behind his closed eyes, the boy hunched his shoulders further so that he could at least partially cover his ears with his arms. Just—he didn’t want to hear Howard on an alcohol-fueled rampage. Not tonight, not when today was supposed to be a _good_ day because he had managed to put together his first car engine with Jarvis’ supervision. It was supposed to be an accomplishment to make Howard proud of him.

Now…

Another crash echoed from below, and Tony clutched his legs tight enough that he would wake up to bruises in the morning.

Long minutes—an eternity to the frightened child—whiled away with the only sounds of Howard’s rage to show that time was, indeed, passing for Tony, and his heartbeat continued pitter-pattering away rapidly in the cavity of his chest with no sign of slowing of calming; it was during an especially loud crash from downstairs that Tony felt the sudden weight of a hand gently settle in the unruly mess of his hair.

Gasping in fear—terrified that his father had somehow found him—Tony jerked his head upwards, eyes wide as he braced himself to face whatever punishment Howard felt was necessary at finding his son out of bed past his bedtime.

Instead…

Instead of the expected, older Stark, a strange man crouched down in front of the five year-old. His eyes and hair were black, his face elongated in an inhuman sort of way, and there was just enough light for Tony to see that his skin was _gray_ , shaded like the stone of the pathway that meandered through their gardens.

“Are you afraid?” the man asked, touch shifting to cup the edge of Tony’s sharp jawline.

“Yes,” the boy answered, white still showing around his pupil-blown irises.

“Of me?” the man then asked, head tilting to the side curiously at the fact that the boy didn’t try to pull away from someone who hadn’t been there moments before—most other children would have been screaming by now, sobbing for their parents to come to them, to bring the light with them.

“No,” Tony whispered.

“Do you know who I am?” the man continued his enquiries, smile stretching his mouth wide in a motion that shouldn’t—couldn’t—be natural. It was a shark-like gesture, the smile of a predator, and it caused Tony’s eyes to widen just the smallest bit more.

“You’re the Bogeyman.”

The answer was quietly breathed, barely audible, but Pitch Black could feel the spark within himself, his Center, pulse larger still at the whispered confession. Such was the power of true, genuine _Belief_. He was _believed in_.

\--he wasn’t expecting the child to reach out, then, Tony’s hands grasping desperately at the lapels of Pitch Black’s robe to suddenly press his body in against the solid mass of the man’s chest. “Please,” Tony begged as he hid his face against where Pitch Black’s heart should have been. “Don’t let him find me tonight. Let the dark hide me. _Please._ ”

It startled Pitch Black, seeing a child have such a reaction: there was fear, so much fear, buried within the boy—but not of him. Tony Stark knew who Pitch Black was, named him, _believed_ in him, but clung to Pitch Black as one did a security blanket—and burrowed deeper into the darkness of the hidey-hole. It… _shifted_ something within the creature, quieted the desire to cause pain and to lash out against the light that had burned him away to nearly nothing centuries ago; instead, the Bogeyman settled an arm around Tony’s trembling shoulders to draw the child closer still and allowed the space around them to darken with the remnants of his nightmares that lingered within the house even days after Tony had had them.

Howard did not find Tony that night.

Nor any other night following.

++

_“Is it better to be feared or respected? I say: Is it too much to ask for both?”_

*

Tony opened his eyes to darkness and pain and the knowledge that it was only a car battery attached to the hole in his chest that was currently keeping him alive. He breathed deep, letting the chill of the underground network of caves seep into his body—embracing the cold and darkness with unexpectedly open arms.

“You’re finally awake, Mr. Stark,” Tony’s makeshift surgeon commented lightly enough from the other side of their so-called ‘room.’ The engineer turned his head towards the sound of the other’s voice and it was only the faintest of light outlining their cell’s door that allowed Tony to see the barest profile of the man’s face. He offered a sound of confirmation, and the man continued, “It’s currently nighttime. The Ten Rings will come soon; they always do around this time. Are you afraid yet, Mr. Stark—of what our captors have in store for you?”

The familiar weight of a hand settled against the rough scruff of Tony’s jawline, and the engineer closed his eyes as he offered up a rasping, crow’s cackle of a laugh in answer.

“No,” Tony replied and grinned, no matter the fact that his new companion wouldn’t be able to see it. “Someone taught to be the thing in the dark that other people feared.”

Pitch Black’s laughter soon enough echoed his own—

_You can’t kill fear, Tony._

::fin::


End file.
